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POEMS 


By 
E. A. Lehman 




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THE GRAFTON PRESS 
New York 



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LIBRA.KV .>< CONGRESS 
Twc Cepiefr Received 

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Copyright 1904 

BY 

E. A. LEHMAN. 



AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 

TO 

MY SISTER 



POEMS 



THE SILENT VILLAGE 

There lieth a village on the hill 

Under the cedar trees — 
Calm, and peaceful, and white, and still, 

The home of the summer breeze. 
The mellow rays of the summer moon 

Fall on its few pale flowers, 
The distant sounds of the fervid noon 

Scarce reach its quiet bowers. 

No noise, no sound of hurrying feet. 

Ever wakens the echoes there; 
The ivy creeps o'er the quiet street, 

Through reaches of maiden-hair. 
The mock-bird echoes a sweet, wild tune 

From the tops of the tallest trees; 
With the beetle's drone and the drowsy hum 

Of a thousand murmuring bees. 

The marble doors of the houses are shut, 

The villagers lie asleep; 
You wander in vain from palace to hut, 

Their secret they sacredly keep. 
Not the rabbit's tread, nor the hawk's shrill 
cries, 

As he wheels round his cherished nest, 
Can disturb these sleepers — with closed eyes 

They lie in their dreamless rest. 
7 



The summer's heat and the winter's cold 

Alike pass unheeded by; 
No part have they in aught that is told 

Beneath the calm, passionless sky. 

"Would I were at rest in this village still," 

A mourner wept alone; 
"Would I were with them on the quiet hill, 

Beneath the mossy head-stone." 
But the Master saith, "The time is not yet, 

Thy work is still to be done; 
'Tis scarcely noon — there are foes to be met- 

The evening will bring thee home." 



THE MARCH WIND 

The March wind echoes a frolicsome lay 
From early morn till the close of day; 
Skirling, whirling, skimming along. 
With dead leaves playing a bugle song. 
Up and away — wild with play, 
With keen note whistling away — away! 

The minister's cloak, with a saucy air. 

It pulls from his shoulders — it tosses his hair; 

His hat goes flying o'er pavement and street; 

Oh, this rollicking blade is a sad one to meet. 

No reverence he — but mad with glee, 

He buffets and jostles — till all seem to flee. 

He shrieks round the corner, enjoying the fun, 
To see the staid lawyer break into a run; 
His wig all awry, his briefs chasing all round, 
While with effort he scarce keeps his feet on 

the ground. 
Up and away — never to stay. 
Screaming with laughter — to see the play. 

Anon it sinks to a sobbing moan. 

Like the Banshee's wail or a spirit's groan; 

Weird and ghostly it rises and falls 

Through the ruined tower and castle walls; 

Sadly, mournfully — hear it roll 

Like the dying wail of a parting soul. 



From the stormy North — in its mad-cap glee — 
To the tropics bright it bounds to the sea; 
Shaking the larch, the fir-tree and pine, 
Then, sinking to rest in a summer clime, 
Soft and low, as an infant's breath; 
Then, darkling with snow, rushing fierce to its 
death. 

O wild March wind! in thy frolicking glee, 
As spring's tricksy herald we welcome thee! 
With spring's first coming thy work is done; 
Away, away, from the bright warm sun. 
Sobbing, sighing, faintly dying — 
With April's first smile and glance of mirth 
ThjDu passest away from the glad, green earth. 



10 



AT EASTER-TIDE 

In the beauty of the lilies, o'er the dews of 
early morn, 

Comes the risen Master buoyant on earth's 
first glad Easter dawn; 

While the Resurrection gladness throbs and 
pulses all around, 

Death and Hell shrink back affrighted, quak- 
ing to their utmost bound. 

For the Lord of Life and Glory, conqueror 
over Death and Grave, 

Cometh forth a crowned victor, bright, re- 
splendent, strong to save — 

Comes to you, to me, my sister, as to Mag- 
dalen of old, 

From the grave-shelf which no longer could 
the Prince of Life enfold. 

And the roll-stone back recoiling from the 

sad, sepulchral gloom, 
Gives us life eternal, springing from our 

Saviour's empty tomb. 
For He lives, our glorious Master — lives to 

intercede for us, 
Pleads His own sufficient merit, pleads His 

death on Calvary's cross. 
11 



Now unfold, ye pearly portals of the everlast- 
ing gate, 

While the King of Glory enters, and atten- 
dant seraphs wait; 

Ranks on ranks of brilliant angels joyfully 
His praise fepeat, 

"Saved by grace," the sinner answers, lowly 
at the Saviour's feet. 

Not archangels' loftiest anthem e'er can reach 
that glad, new song 

Which the humblest mortal utters and Eter- 
nity prolongs. 



12 



QUEEN FLORA'S OPENING DAY 

Where were the flowers the long winter 

through? 
What were they doing while the year was 

new? 
They were busily working, embroidering their 

robes, 
Coloring each leaf-bud and folding it close. 
The Hepatica labored a long, long time 
To perfect its tints for the genial sunshine; 
It planned, and trimmed, and cheerily wrought 
Its delicate leaves in the springtime sought. 

The Blood-root gathered its juices so red. 
And stored them up, while apparently dead. 
The Violet shyly and modestly sat. 
Blending the shades for its new spring hat. 
Its perfumes were stored in numberless cells, 
Ready to spread o'er its blossoming bells. 
It chose its own corner in which to bide 
When spring winds should summon to every 
hillside. 

The Butterfly courier was preening his wing. 
To herald the approach of the Fairy Queen. 
He practiced a tune caught from Oberon's 

lute. 
And gave its first notes while the fields still 

were mute; 
Queen Flora was dozing and dreaming all day, 
13 



Her work being done by each busy fay. 

Her servants were waiting to marshal her 

clan, 
Whenever her signal was heard in the glen. 

Ten thousand buds were waiting to dress 
The trees in their springtime loveliness, 
The bees sent out in the early dawn 
To know the date of the opening morn, 
The Prime Minister consulted the Sun 
To know if the work of the flowers was done — 
To ask if old Boreas had gone to his lair, 
To see if Jack Frost still lurked in the air. 

When all was ready the signal was given 
To every spring flower found under heaven. 
They sprang to their places in happiest mood, 
And in perfected beauty all waiting they stood. 
The South Wind swung his baton around, 
And all joined the chorus above the ground. 
The summer flowers still waited below. 
Eager to hear their summons to go. 
The Orchestra of Nature burst forth into play 
Its grand anthem of welcome to April and 
May. 



14 



NOW! 

Golden days are swiftly fleeting; 

Make them tell. 
Heart-throbs now for you are beating; 

Prize them well. 
Youth is here, but for a moment, 

Soon to go; 
All its precious, genial tokens 

Ebb and flow. 

Can you do a kindly deed? 

Do it now! 
Do not wait till direr need 

Seams the brow. 
If you know a tortured soul, 

Do not stand 
Till the awful surges roll 

On the eternal strand; 
Till the pale hands nerveless lie. 
And you've closed the tear-stained eye. 



15 



SUNSET ON PILOT MOUNTAIN 

"The Pilot" is a strangely isolated peak in 
Western North Carolina, of very peculiar for- 
mation. It has a large castellated peak, which 
rises 300 feet above the mountain proper, on 
the east side, and a smaller one just beyond 
it, familiarly known as the large and small 
pinnacles. The large pinnacle bears a con- 
siderable resemblance to a huge castle with 
large Gothic windows, and these, lighted up 
by the setting sun, present a unique and beau- 
tiful appearance. The Indians called it "The 
Pilot," because it served to guide them in 
hunting. The "Blue Ridge" begins the grand 
mountain scenery of Western North Carolina, 
and the Pilot stands like an outpost, "a senti- 
nel to guard the enchanted ground." 

The shadows slanting westward now assume 
A hazy outline, ere the evening gloom 
Engulfs and closely wraps the rising moon. 
As if the giant of the castle lighted up 
His evening fires and quaffed his evening cup. 
Fantastic shadows flicker to and fro, 
As fancy mist wreaths, curling, come and go. 
The grand old Pilot stands, majestic and sub- 
lime, 
A kingly presence frowning o'er the hills of 

time; 
He reigned supreme, father of myriad rills, 
16 



When Judah's star arose on Orient hills. 
He stood, a dread ambassador from heaven to 

earth, 
When morning-stars sang carols to his birth. 
His purple shadows frowned o'er rocky dell 
Ere Tyre arose or Priam's city fell. 
While Old World splendor faded into night, 
Or New World forests hailed the dawning 

light, 
He stood alone, a mighty beacon high, 
Telling the weary wanderer "Home is nigh!" 

A hoary priest he sits, enthroned in state, 

With sacerdotal stole and jeweled plate, 

Ruby, carnelian, topaz, amethyst, 

Jasper, chalcedony, and sardonyx. 

Rich tints commingled, until all aglow, 

A violet splendor, tinted all below. 

While far up rocky steeps reflect the light. 

And lambent tongue-flames leap from height 

to height. 
Upon his castellated brow the evening star 
Beams clear and bright, with glory from afar. 
The mist-robed hills kneel to their great high 

priest. 
In dim confessional, from great to least; 
And Nature's choral anthem rings meanwhile 
In every woodland nook and forest aisle. 
The wailing minor of the sad-voiced pines, 
In "Kyrie Eleison" sweetly chimes, 
Until the moon's soft benediction gently falls. 
And night's dark mantle shrouds them like a 

pall. 

The moon now beams, queen regnant of the 

sky. 
Assumes the sceptre which the sun lays by. 
Orion leads the brilliant starry host, 
17 



With stately tread they climb the shining 

cope, 
While in the centre of the star-lit dome 
Thou standest, O mount! grand, beautiful, 

alone! 
The calm and restful strength thy presence 

gives 
Imbues me with a new-born strength to live. 
The Everlasting Hills! with soothing art, 
Ere still the pulses of my restless heart, 
And I am raised from earth to heaven. 
By strength and calm endurance from thee 

given. 



18 



ALASKA 

(On the Tenth Anniversary of Moravian Mis- 
sion Work.) 
The Storm King's banners were proudly 
spread 
As his legions pressed forth in their might, 
They fettered Alaska with barriers of ice, 

Engloomed her in Arctic night. 
The Prince of Darkness, too, marshaled his 
clans, 
And bound her in triple chains. 
No light, no hope for these dreary lands, 
These desolate, snow-covered plains! 

The auroral dawn of a better day 

Flashed athwart the polar night; 
The white bear, the walrus, the seal's soft eyes 

All turned to the growing light. 
The imbruted Eskimo slowly caught 

The beam in his dull, hopeless eye; 
But brighter, yet brighter, the day-star arose. 

Till it flooded the earth and the sky. 

The Cross grew luminous as it stood. 

The Eskimo bowed at its side: 
"O tell me the story once more," he said, 

"I, too, need the cleansing tide." 
Now, "washed in the blood, made whiter than 
snow," 

19 



He rises to newness of life, 
And under the power of Sharon's sweet rose 
He awakes to a nobler strife. 

O wonderful Love! O wonderful Cross! 

That thus can conquer the gloom 
Of an Arctic night, and in ten short years 

Bring forth the radiance of noon. 
The kayak still skims o'er the purpling wave, 

But his owner now raises his face 
To the heaven above, and in child-like trust 

Prays to Him who is mighty in grace. 

The ice-crag still darkles and glooms as of 
yore; 

The auroral glory is as grand; 
The harvest is white, but the laborers few, 

O come! Lo! their beckoning hand. 
The ocean surges thunder "Come!" 

The pine trees whisper it low; 
Alaska doth stretch out her hands unto God! 

Who! who! is ready to go? 



20 



A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE 

In November and December of 1901 there 
was a notable conjunction of planets in the 
western sky, such as it was said would not 
again occur in 300 years, when we hope to be 
"beyond the stars." 

A notable marriage took place on high, 

In the halls of the Sunset Land — 
Venus, and Jupiter, the lord of the sky, 
Have joined their hands in a nuptial tie 

In the midst of a glittering band. 
Grave Saturn, as high priest, his blessing be- 
stowed, 

But his ring was a world too wide; 
And Mars stood sulking in angry mood 

At the loss of his chosen bride. 

But Venus, coquettish and coy as of yore. 

Shone resplendent in regal state, 
i\nd Jupiter, flushed with his victory won, 

Was superbly grand and great. 
Orion marshaled his brilliant band 

As he marched up the shining cope; 
With stately tread and glancing helm 

He turned down the westering slope. 

Only Mercury skulked in the morning skies, 

His invitation coming too late; 
So, ahead of the Sun-god he took his place, 

As gloomy and grim as fate. 
21 



Such a joyous carnival is rarely known 
In the ranks of the celestial band; 

Three hundred years, it is said, will have flown 
Till they reassemble in the Sunset Land! 

Not the faintest echo can reach our ears 

Of that symphonious bridal march; 
Not the gentlest whisper of the music of the 
spheres,. 

Wafted down from yon gleaming arch. 
The Moon's slender crescent hung over the 
pair, 

In the path of the downward Sun; 
While meteors flashed through the evening air 

And whispered, "The day is done." 



22 



NORTH CAROLINA'S HEROES 

To Thee, the God of battles, before whose 

prescient eye 
The nations rise and flourish, then fade away 

and die, 
The patriot's God, we hail Thee, in this our 

later day, 
For Thy goodness and Thy mercy to those 

now passed away. 
The years have quickly glided, like shadows 

o'er the grass, 
Since our fathers bravely labored at their ap- 
pointed task; 
The first to throw the gauntlet to the insulting 

foe— 
The first in Declaration — the first to strike the 

blow. 

They pledged their lives and fortunes, their 

honor, and their all, 
And man by man responded in answer to the 

call; 
And Mecklenburg's grand story on history's 

page shall glow, 
When kings and mighty rulers have laid their 

proud heads low. 
The hollow dark of history is lighted by their 

deed, 
For they were tried and faithful in the hour 

of stress and need. 
23 



When the red storm of battle burst forth with 
shot and shell, 

And levin bolts came flashing like lurid flames 
from Hell, 

The sons of Carolina stood firm on every 
hand, 

A steady wall of fire, to gird their native land; 

And when Hell's fiercest minions were rush- 
ing to the fight, 

Their oriflamme was Liberty! — and God was 
for the right. 

Again in '6i the summons pealed from moun- 
tain crag to coast. 

The sons of Carolina poured forth a mighty 
host. 

And in the first great battle of that fearful 
civil strife 

A son of Carolina first gave his precious life. 

When Cuba called for succor in her hour of 
direst woe. 

Worth Bagley gave his young life-blood the 
first to foreign foe. 

And now that War's loud tocsin has long since 

died away, 
While the Sun of Peace is shining on our 

country bright to-day, 
'Tis well that we should honor those brave 

and dauntless men, 
And show the age of heroes has come to us 

again. 
To carve their names in marble and lofty col- 
umns raise. 
To tell to future ages of those grand, heroic 

days, 
How gallant Shipp pressed forward, and fore-. 

most fighting fell, 
24 



A martyr and a hero to the land he loved so 
well. 

On Fame's eternal camping-ground a mighty 

host is spread, 
A grand, inspiring army of the great and noble 

dead; 
That "Choir Invisible" so brave has passed 

from mortal sight, 
The music of their lives scarce heard from 

yonder plains of light. 
But here they live again in those their noble 

actions taught, 
And thus, from age to age, their lives with 

blessings may be fraught. 
For knightly deeds are cherished in the young 

and ardent heart. 
And so, in living characters, they learn to do 

their part. 

Ye men of Carolina! our heritage is grand! 
From sea-board to the mountains we have a 

glorious land; 
Our fathers fought and struggled to make her 

free and great; 
Now, do your part right nobly for our own 

beloved State! 



25 



"A STAR SHALL ARISE OUT OF 
JACOB " 

Wondrous Star from Judah beaming 

O'er a dark, benighted earth! 
Heathen sages hail thy rising, 

Token of a monarch's birth! 
Though but dimly comprehended, 

They accept the token sweet. 
Follow, till its steadfast shining 

Guides them to a Saviour's feet. 

There, with rapt and holy feeling, 

Low they bend before their King, 
Him, whose birth the heavens blazon, 

Whom adoring angels sing. 
Costly jewels glow and sparkle, 

Myrrh, and frankincense, and gold. 
Gifts for Prophet, Priest, and Saviour, 

While the story they unfold. 

Star of beauty ! Star of wonder ! 

Let us hail the dawning light; 
After dark and gloomy ages,^ 

Rise within our hearts to-night. 
Scatter sin, and doubt, and darkness, 

With thy mild and cheering ray. 
Till for Jew and Gentile dawneth. 

Once for all — the perfect day! 



26 



OCTOBER 

The October splendor softly falls 

O'er woodland, field and river; 
The high-tide of the year has come, 

With many a trill and quiver. 
An undertone of sadness creeps 

O'er Nature's wildwood story, 
Her music, tuned to minor key, 

Has lost its summer glory, 
And plaintive chords sound everywhere, 
Throughout October's genial air. 

An angel came from heavenly courts 

To sow broadcast his treasures; 
The golden-rod has reared its head 

In generous woodland measures. 
Each plume of gold is God's own smile, 

His benison to mortals, 
A trailing gleam of living light 

From out the heavenly portals. 
October's gold o'er hill and dale, 
While Gentians glow and Asters pale. 

Ah, well! 'tis thus the seasons go. 
Each bearing its own blessing; 

Rich stores of knowledge offered us, 
While years are swiftly passing. 

We gather now their treasured gold. 

Ere heart and mind are growing old. 
27 



O heart of God that throbs and glows 

Through Nature's every feature! 
O hfe of God that ebbs and flows 

In every Hving creature! 
The autumn time thy glory tells, 

With thousand gladsome voices, 
While wood and vale the chorus swell, 

And Earth with Heaven rejoices! 



2S 



"THE CALL OF THE WILD" 

A deadly weariness holds me in thrall 

Through the pent-up city streets. 
Till, lo! the "Call of the Wild" stirs the blood, 

As it pulses and throbs with each beat. 
Again, like the note of some sweet, shy bird, 

Comes the strange, soul-stirring call; 
Louder and clearer, it strives to be heard, 

Till it rules and dominates all. 

It calls to the woods, to the fresh, sweet 
woods. 

Bathed in their dewy sheen; 
It thrills and echoes in every breeze. 

Whispering through aisles of green. 
The heathery slopes, rich with golden-rod, 

Invite with their treasures rare, 
The orchid woos, with its pure, sweet breath. 

Over reaches of maiden-hair. 

'Tis the call to the hills — to the ferny dells, 

Where the red-deer lies hid in the morn, 
While, ever and anon, so clear and shrill, 

Peals the sound of the hunter's horn! 
'Tis the call of the pines — of the evergreen 
trees. 

With their soulful, murmuring sound. 
An imprisoned Dryad is making her moan 

To be freed from her woody bound. 
29 



'Tis the call of the pixies and gnomes as they 
dance 

'Mong the roots of the grand old trees, 
Guarding the gems that glitter and glance 

Far down amid springing leaves; 
'Tis the call of the wood-pee-wee to her mate, 

As she croons a soft lullaby; 
Or the thrush, as she poises on pinion fleet, 

Outlined 'gainst the crimsoning sky. 

O the gladness, the joy of this "Call of the 
Wild"! 

Away from the homes of men; 
'Tis strong as the love of friend or of child. 

As it sounds from the deep forest glen. 
It lures to the Klondike mountains of snow, 

It woos to the distant West; 
It is borne on the winds of a sun-kissed land. 

To a tragical, dream-filled rest! 



MEMORY BELLS 

Memory Bells! Memory Bells! 

How they are pealing, 

How they are stealing 

Through the chambers of the soul 

How they roll^ 

Telling of a joyous time 

With a clear and silvery chime, 

Where a merry child at play, 

All the gladsome, springtime day. 

Caroled happy hours away. 

At her play. 

Now a fuller, richer tone 

Swells beneath the summer moon, 

Floods of melody are welling, 

Joy too deep and sweet for telling, 

Every note foretells 

Joyous, golden bells! 

Purple pansies flush and quiver, 

Whispering of the ardent giver; 

Love breathes everywhere 

On the perfumed air. 

Slowly, sadly, now they toll — 
'Tis the death-knell of the soul; 
Hark! the pealing monotone 
Of a dying spirit's moan; 
Gone the joyous chime 
Of youth's glad springtime! 
31 



Gone the purple shades that quiver- 
Quiver! shiver! 
On the broad, sun-tinted river 
Of Love's summer noon, 
Gone, alas! full soon! 
How they toll! How they roll! 
Through the chambers of the soul! 
Down Time's changeful river, 
How they quiver! 
Shiver! Quiver! 

Reach, at length, the Silent River! 
Spirit, part in peace, 
Thou hast won release. 



32 



THE CARNIVAL OF THE TREES 

The trees have been keeping for many a year 
A carnival time, ere the leaves are sere, 
The Sour-wood put on his sweetest smile. 
To show his good temper just once in a while; 
His red leaves were glowing like crimson fire, 
As the South Wind tried to arouse his ire. 

Bold Boreas worried the Hickory trees 

And made them as angry as they could be. 

Their bright yellow leaves were skirling 
around 

In the mellow sunlight, flecking the ground. 

The Sweet-Gum had decked her with carven 
balls, 

For the Brownies to play through the wood- 
land halls; 

They chatter and clatter, as football they play, 

And grin at each other the live-long day. 

Do you see the woodland nymphs as they 

dance. 
Peering through the dim aisles, as they eye us 

askance, 
Advancing, retreating, gliding soft and slow. 
With twinkling feet, o'er the leaf-strewn floor? 
The Sumach has spread out his crimson cones 
To tempt the birds from their forest homes. 
The Hawthorn berries, like rubies, gleam. 
Against the leaves with their emerald sheen, 
33 



The Red Oak has flung his banner to the 

breeze, 
He glitters and shines, like a king, 'mid the 

trees. 
But the hectic flush of a swift decay 
Marks them all for Death, and they may not 

stay. 
The chill winds of November come wailing by. 
And their golden splendor in ruins must lie. 

The waning year does his best for us all. 
Enriching each season with its fruits as they 

fall; 
The corn, the tobacco, the golden grain, 
The apples, the purpling grapes of the plain. 
O New Year! we hail thee with radiant joy; 
Bring us treasures and gifts without alloy; 
We'll do our best with each passing day 
To make a good record ere thou glidest away! 



34 



THE STRENGTH OF THE HILLS 

For the breezy uplifting of mountains from 

the sorrows and mists of earth; 
For the strength of a loftier purpose to which 

thoughts of the hills give birth; 
For the fragrant breath of the balsams, with 

their cool and soothing nod, 
"For the strength of the hills we thank Thee, 

O God, our fathers' God!" 

When the restful shadows of evening come 

softly adown the glen, 
To smooth the deep-set furrows from the faces 

and souls of men; 
When the purple tints of the valleys creep 

slowly from the west. 
Till violet, amber, and topaz encircle the 

mountain's crest, 
As they gather in glooms and hollows with 

more than a painter's art. 
And with daintiest touches are soothing the 

weariness from each heart; 
It is then, O Lord! that we thank Thee for the 

strength of the hills Thou hast trod 
In the days of Thine earthly manhood. Son of 

Mary, and Son of God. 

When the pulse beats are feeble and flighty 
and the gasping breath comes quick, 
35 



In the strength of the hills we find Thee, while 
the spirit is faint and sick; 

For the scent of the breezy woodlands, for the 
pure, sweet breath of the hills, 

Which comes laden with strength and vigor 
from myriads of mountain rills; 

Distilled from the choicest odors of the resin- 
ous fir-tree and pine, 

Exhaled in ten thousand dewdrops from the 
bells of the swaying woodbine. 

Thus we're lifted on wings like eagles to 
heights which our Master trod 

In the days of His earthly conflict, our Sa- 
viour, the Son of God! 



36 



OUR GRAVEYARD CEDARS 

The villagers lie silently sleeping 

In dreamless rest 'neath the trees, 
While the cedars above them are keeping 

The watch of a hundred years. 
Even the echoes of children's voices 

Fall faint and subdued on the breeze, 
The mellow rays of the moonlight 

Are sifted through the quivering leaves. 

Here are lying the early fathers 

Who came o'er the stormy seas 
To found in these Western forests 

A church — and a home of peace. 
And they, too, the patient mothers, 

With toil-worn hands at rest, 
After life's weary endeavor, 

Stilled on each pulseless breast. 

Here, strong and vigorous manhood, 

Called hence even before their noon, 
Ere yet their sun was westering 

Came the night of death and gloom. 
And they, too, the winsome children, 

How sadly we gaze and weep! 
As they early turned and folded 

Their little hands in sleep. 

What wonder that the cedars 
Are falling, one by one, 
37 



Before the storm-blast's fury, 
And thus their race is run. 

How many scenes of sorrow, 
How many a bitter tear 

They've witnessed in the past time, 
Shed on each passing bier. 

Mysterious whispers are floating, 

Invisible pinions are near; 
'Tis holy ground we are treading 

As we strain each listening ear. 
In vain! the unbroken silence 

Is deep as the quiet dead, 
The cedars are bending sadly 

As they are arching overhead. 



IN MEMORIAM 

"My beloved is gone down into his garden- 
to gather Hlies." — Ecclesiast. vi, 2. 

A lily grew in a garden of earth, 

So purely, so radiantly fair; 
Its delicate fragrance and stainless worth 

Breathed on every perfumed air. 
Fond eyes at its winsome opening grew bright 

Fond hearts throbbed with tenderest joy; 
In its chaliced depths lay a heart of gold, 

A treasure without alloy. 

But the Master came to this garden rare, 

And with softest hand of love 
Transplanted the opening flower so fair 

To His radiant garden above. 
O! stricken hearts grew with anguish faint 

As they mutely bowed to the stroke, 
For " 'Twas not in cruelty, not in wrath, 

That the Lord of the Harvest spoke." 

"It shall bloom forever," He gently said, 
"Where the bright-robed harpers stand, 

Bearing fadeless wreaths of earth's choicest 
flowers 
In the glorious Heavenly Land." 



THE HILLS OF CAROLINA 

The hills of Carolina! how gloriously they rise, 
Their mellow tints of sapphire blend with the 

meeting skies! 
From the seaboard to the mountains they 

gradually ascend, 
Till heaven and earth, drawn nearer, in mystic 

union blend. 
Beneath the rock-ribbed mountains lies many 

a flashing gem, 
While granite bowlders furnish a heritage for 

men. 
The marble quarry calling for sculptor's choic- 
est skill, 
And metals rich lie hidden under her every 

hill. 

Her rivers, calm and placid, are generating 

force 
To ply her mills and factories in a resistless 

course. 
The booming of the Yadkin against its rocky 

bars 
Is Nature's great reserve force, propelling city 

cars. 
What prophets' lore dared whisper a hundred 

years ago 
Of great results in science such as we daily 

show? 

40 



The heir of all the ages, the present century 

can 
Bring to great heights of culture the earnest, 

thinking man. 

Beneath his driving plough-share the gener- 
ous, fertile soil 
Brings forth, in richest measure, rewards for 

honest toil. 
Why seek an Eldorado under a tropic sun, 
When North Carolina needs you, her children, 

every one? 
Why leave our grand old mother, urged on by 

restless fears, 
And then return despondent, with all your 

wasted years? 
Her glorious record thrills us to emulate the 

deeds 
Of patriot sons and heroes in her time of 

sorest need, 
When gallant Shipp and Bagley fell foremost 

in the fight, 
And Vance and Graham, leaders, were ever for 

the right; 
Brevard and Alexander, and many an honored 

name 
Shine forth on Glory's record like living 

tongues of flame. 

Ye sons of Carolina! rise to their glorious 

height, 
Not alone of those who are willing to die for 

what is right, 
But of gallant sons who love her and are 

ready so to live 
That her name is known and honored by the 

record which they give. 



41 



THE SNOW 

Silently, patiently, steadily down, 
Covering the roofs of the gray old town — 
Down from the leaden, exhaustless sky, 
Feathery, filmy, the soft flakes fly; 
Clothing with ermine each unsightly stone. 
While the wind dies out in a sobbing moan. 

Vistas and arches of marble abound. 
Cherubs and statues seem hovering around, 
Bushes are bordered inch-deep with pearl. 
While faster and faster the soft flakes whirl. 
The brown old earth lies quiet and still, 
While bridal robes deck each far-off hill. 

The virgin snow! how pure it lies. 
Icy and chaste, as it fell from the skies! 
No earth-born stain disfigures the sight, 
Emblem of purity — stainless as light; 
Wrapping the earth in its mantle deep. 
Whence the gentle snowdrops will coyly creep. 



42 



LOVE 

The slumbrous air is heavy 

With odors from hemlock and pine, 

With perfume from myriads of blossoms, 
Bending over the swaying woodbine. 

The great white bells of the moon-flower 
Open in the soft, mellow light; 

Fairies are dancing within them 
As they practice each mystic rite. 

Dream spells are woven for lovers, 
Charms for the Fairy Queen, 

As daintily clad in gossamers 
She hovers about the scene. 

Love quivers and flames in each planet. 

As it circles around its sun; 
It moans in each breeze as it ruffles 

The flowers, ere their short life is done. 

The mocking-bird sings to her lover 
As she trills a swift roundelay; 

All nature is tuned to this keynote: 
Love rules with all-powerful sway. 

From nature we rise to the creature 
Made by God in His image to move; 

And here, too, in every feature, 
Is shining a wonderful Love. 
43 



From the creature we ascend to his Maker, 
And in the radiant glory above, 

'Mid angel, archangel and seraph, 
There, too, is mighty, Omnipotent Love. 

On the green, smiling banks of Life's River, 
In the white-domed mansions of Rest, 

'Mid the glad song that peals there forever, 
Love ranks highest, holiest, best! 



LofC. 

44 



SESQUI-CENTENNIAL ODE 

On the 150th Anniversary of the Arrival of the 
First Moravian Settlers in Wachovia, N. C. 

It was a dark November day in seventeen 
fifty-three, 

When just at eve a stalwart band were gath- 
ered wearily; 

All travel-stained and worn they came to these 
Wachovia hills 

To found a home — a brotherhood — beside its 
flowing rills. 

The leaden sky above them bent in benedic- 
tion rare. 

As in Hans Wagner's cabin rude arose their 
evening prayer. 

Their lullaby that stormy night was the fierce 
panther's cry, 

Like some lost spirit's eerie shriek the howl- 
ing wolf crept by; 

But, safe as bird in quiet nest, sheltered, se- 
cure from harms. 

Around them and beneath were spread the 
Everlasting Arms! 

No peaceful homes, no busy mills, no sprout- 
ing corn were there. 

But Desolation's wildest fugues played through 
the wintry air. 

45 



The Storm-king's banners, proudly spread, 
were flaunting fierce and high, 

And levin bolts came crashing across the dark- 
ening sky; 

But God — our fathers' God — was there, the 
same for us and ours, 

And guarded them, as He guards us, in dan- 
ger's trying hour. 

They labored long and patiently, laid their 
foundations deep. 

And we, in nineteen hundred three, their faith- 
ful sowings reap. 

We hear it — in the busy hum of countless 
shops and mills; 

We see it — in the bending grain of fertile 
fields and hills; 

We prize it — in the treasured lore of academic 
halls 

Which for a century has shone forth from our 
college walls; 

We hail it — in the Liberty so highly prized by 
them, 

Which echoes from the mountain tops to each 
sequestered glen. 



'Tis right to do them honor, and to their 
memory twine 

Our fadeless wreaths of laurel, of cypress, and 
of pine; 

To raise our granite columns in this centen- 
nial year, 

And thus, in three-fold jubilee, honor their 
memory dear. 

When deadly pestilence its wings of terror 
o'er them spread, 

And long the scales were poised between the 
living and the dead, 
46 



Their faith and courage sorely tried, their 
trust in God was still 

Their anchor-sheet as erst they stood upon 
yon graveyard hill. 

About them were twelve new-made graves of 
those so dearly prized, 

While lurking in the shadows deep the mur- 
derous Indians hide. 

What kept them then in darkest days, even 
round that burial sod, 

But a strong and child-like leaning upon their 
covenant God? 

And so we stand, in later days, while they 

have fallen asleep, 
To guard this goodly heritage that now is ours 

to keep. 
Methinks they call, in gentle tones, across the 

gulf of years. 
Lest we neglect — lest we forget — what they 

have sown in tears. 
They wrought in faith and patience on an oft- 
times weary road, 
But they gained a welcome entrance to the 

presence of their Lord. 
There, free from toil and sorrow, they've 

joined the white-robed band, 
'Mid the uncreated brightness of the glorious 

Heavenly Land! 
But we who still are treading the rugged paths 

of life 
Should -bear ourselves as nobly in its daily 

stress and strife; 
Should fill our days with action from busy sun 

to sun. 
Till for us, too, the eventide shall bring our 

Lord's "Well done!" 



47 



MAR ] 1904 



